


a prayer for the wild at heart, kept in cages

by kennedyismyhero



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-23
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-06 04:52:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16381769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kennedyismyhero/pseuds/kennedyismyhero
Summary: The deleted scenes between approximately 3x02 to the end of 3x11. Basically an excuse for me to write a series of vignettes fleshing out how Ava and Sara ended up on their date in 3x12.Note: This story continues in my “curved like a road through mountains” universe, meaning Ava is prior military not a clone.





	1. Prologue: Present Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is a series of plotbunnies (read: an excuse to disguise a series of vignettes as a multi-chapter story) that would not leave me alone for five months so bear with me as I exercise them from my brain. It started out as the (video)calls I imagined Sara & Ava had after the one in 3x11 seemed to establish they already had a casual call rapport already and then I, like Gideon, thought it’d be funny to stick Gary and his Avalance-shipping heart into a bunch of weird scenarios, and then I just wanted to give Ava a life outside the Bureau, the Legends, and Sara or Gary so I gave her a makeshift family. And a bunch of angst about feelings! In the end, I just smushed them all together so I could play around with some bonus round anachronisms and drama too.
> 
> I have spent nearly all my waking time (both at work, at home, when I should be sleeping) adding, rearranging, tweaking, and re-considering parts of this because apparently I “write like people put together puzzles”, or so says my best friend when I tried to explain my process to her. Many moons ago the goal was to have the first chapter published before the season premiere, and... *looks at watch* oh, boy..down to the wire, eh? 
> 
> I have the framework for the next 10(!) chapters already typed out, and even without filling those out and polishing them up so they’re like...coherent, this behemoth is already over 30k in words - you could say I’m dedicated to finishing. This is a major endeavor for me so all kudos and comments are always appreciated. :)

Ava awakens gradually, like someone slowly drawing up the shade on a window. She loves that waking up in Sara’s bed has become commonplace after fearing she’d never see these quarters again. There was a time when she stood on the bridge of the Waverider and thought things would never be the same between her and Sara, and now she revels in the sheets and duvet that smell distinctly of citrus body wash and the lavender-scented lotion, the kind Sara applies almost ritually after every shower. Both of these are scents she’s come to associate with stolen moments between the sheets and lazy mornings spent in each others arms after they’ve both woken up. 

The room’s lights are still low while she shakes the last remains of sleep from her mind, but she can feel she’s alone in bed. She doesn’t even need to adjust her position, too wrapped up in the sheets, in order to see the digital clock programmed with the Waverider’s relative time in the temporal zone. 

[02:09am]

Way too early for her. And still quite early for Sara, who typically didn’t leave the room if she couldn’t sleep. Rather than risk overheating Ava by spooning or disturbing her by tossing and turning, Sara would keep a hand or knee in contact, and wait to see if sleep will find her or end up just laying there until it’s time to get up. That means this is something else and, unfortunately, it isn’t the first time Ava has woken up alone. Though, she will say ever since Sara and her had unspokenly gotten back together the crew, and even Gideon, seemed to go out of their way to make sure that it doesn’t happen often.

The fact Gideon didn’t wake both of them only reinforces her suspicion that it was one of the Legends who drew Sara away because Ava is, quite frankly, completely naked. That means whomever has Sara out of bed probably has good reason and whatever it was, it warranted an in-person appraisal because Sara had been adamant about spending the day in bed together. While Ava is not normally the type of person that lazes about in bed all day, giving into her more hedonistic tendencies, Sara has always been able to unlock her sentimental and vulnerable side.

Ava wants to go back to sleep, tells herself if Sara really needs her for something she would come and rouse her from bed as well. She closes her eyes, takes a few deeply calming breaths, and tries to focus on how nice Sara’s sheets feel against her bare skin. It’s all of ten minutes where she desperately chases the last little vestiges of sleep before she finally gives up. 

Sitting up with a huff, she raises the room’s dim lights just enough to locate a pair of Sara’s mesh shorts, emblazoned with ‘Starling City High School Girls Basketball’ on one thigh, and a long sleeved shirt from the dresser built into the bulkhead. Her few inches in height advantage have the shorts riding higher on her thigh than she’d prefer and definitely higher than when Sara wears them, but it’s early and the squeak of surprise Ray gave last time he saw her wearing them was absolutely worth it.

The kind of dark the halls of the Waverider become in the wee hours of the ‘morning’ is something wholly indescribable, at least to Ava. It’s nowhere near pitch black since there’s a small amount of ambient light filtering through from the ship’s flooring, but dark enough that if one of the team woke up in the middle of the night and needed to use the bathroom or work out their frustrations in the gym or library, and stumbled into the corridors they wouldn’t be instantly blind. Nonetheless it’s dark enough not to be able to successfully navigate without extensive time spent on the ship or some assistance. The latter of which is exactly what happens as Gideon ever so slightly raises the lights section by section, leading her to what she presumes was Sara’s ultimate destination. 

She slips quietly down the maze of corridors that are slowly becoming familiar to her half-surprised she doesn’t hear the muffled sounds of Zari snacking while she plays video games, Ray tinkering in his lab, Nate hitting the books in the library, or Mick’s typewriter, because Zari informed them that was totally a thing that happens. The crew must’ve been more exhausted than they projected after this week’s ‘movie night’ ran well past midnight. Nate was on a classic 80s kick, and had announced a double feature of “Romancing the Stone” and “Crocodile Dundee” earlier in the week. Zari had been dubious to say the least, but Sara and Ava had watched her go from curmudgeon-level disbelief to potentially intrigued after Ray and Nate’s animated, and overly enthusiastic plot breakdowns. 

The fact that Nate had thought to specifically invite her to the Legends’ movie night at all caused a unfamiliar itch of the type of happiness she hadn’t felt in a long time. She had a place here, and more than that, they wanted her here with them. Though she supposes she really shouldn't have been that surprised, Nate had been the one to get the ball rolling on that front by introducing the moniker of ‘Mrs. Cap’ to the others. While it didn’t thrill her, it was far preferable to Ray previously referring to her as the ‘Mean Time Lady’ or Mick staring at her butt and having ‘conversations’ with her breasts. They’re her… friends, strange as it may sound because somewhere along the way Zari, Nate, Ray, and even Mick have grown to mean something to her. The Legends have gone from simply Sara’s friends who tolerate their captain’s girlfriend to...well, family was too strong of word, but she definitely felt like she successfully fit here amongst them.

After her evolving relationship with the Legends, the next biggest thing that surprised her was how fast the Waverider had transformed from timeship to a home. Regardless of uniform slate gray tiling and recycled air reminding her of all the years it was used as a Bureau flight simulator, the vessel now felt warm and lived in, not unlike the transformation a house goes through. It even had rid itself of the overwhelming antiseptic smell it had acquired after falling into disrepair during years of cadet use and abuse. The smell had been so distinctly strong it permeated the walls, and she was sure she’d smelled a hint of it lingering when she boarded the vessel after the debacle in Aruba. 

When she reaches her destination, she takes a moment to raise her eyes appreciatively to ceiling above her, a slow smile appearing on her face as the lighting around her lowers again. “Thank you, Gideon.” She whispers, knowing the AI is listening.

“You’re welcome, Director Sharpe.” She never thought winning over an artificial intelligence would make her to-do list. She was actually doubtful she’d ever thaw the icy reception she’d become accustomed to but now that she seems to have gotten Gideon’s stamp of approval, it pleased her in a oddly fitting way.

Ava takes a moment to lean up against the galley’s entranceway while she drags a hand back through her sleep-tousled hair back, getting the bulk of it out of her face when sleepy blue eyes find her from across the room. She feels her heartbeat increase slightly, the same way it always does whenever she sees Sara Lance, and she finally pushes herself up from her lean to cross the room. “Hey you,” Ava sits down across from her, happy to let Sara hook her foot around a chair leg and pull her closer, the half-finished juice glass in front of her nudged to the side.

“Hi,” Sara replies, her exhaustion apparent but she practically purrs when Ava brushes an errant lock of hair behind her ear. She leans forward just long enough to press a quick kiss to Ava’s lips before she pulls back. Ava grabs a muffin from the bowl in the center of the table to keep her hands busy.

“How long have you been up?” Easily zeroing in on the source of Sara’s early wake-up isn’t hard; Sara has been out of bed in the middle of the night at least twice this week to go sit with Nate. Even though he puts on a brave face when the team is together, Sara had started noticing he hadn’t been the same since dropping Amaya off in Zambezi. After Wally’s unexpected departure, when it looked like the distance might get worse, she decided to intervene before he pulled away altogether and the rest of the Legends noticed. Once she volunteered to be a sounding board for him, it opened a door that was apparently sorely needed. 

But then again, Sara was exactly the kind of person to sacrifice her time, her sleep, anything in order to help someone, Legend or not. As though she would never be able to erase the sins of her past, forgetting every day she successfully fought the darkness that threatened to dictate the rest of her life. 

“Awhile,” She exhales contentedly as Ava continues to soothingly card a hand through her hair, grazing the tips of her fingers along Sara’s scalp. “It was a long talk.” Ava knows enough not to ask about the particulars as she would never want to put Sara in a position to betray Nate’s trust. She’s confident that if it was something she needed help sorting out, she would confide in Ava.

“What do you need?” Fingers slide to the back of Sara’s neck and try to ease the tension that’s built up over the course of the day through practiced circles, and brilliant blue eyes disappear momentarily as she leans in Ava’s hand.

“Just you.” Sara whispers letting the full weight of her head be held in Ava’s hand, until her stomach rumbles loud enough for even Ava to hear. “And possibly food.” She retracts her hand back to her muffin when Sara rises to her feet reluctantly and moves towards the food fabricator.

Ava forgets her food momentarily, content to simply watch Sara move around the galley until she finally must feel eyes on her and looks over.

“What’s that look for?” Sara tries and fails to suppress a bemused smile at catching Ava’s lingering gaze on her way back to the table with a bowl of oatmeal and a spoon.

“Why do you love me?” The spoon pauses midway to her open mouth as though she has to seriously consider Ava’s question.

“What?” Sara’s face scrunches up in pure confusion, complete with eyebrow quirk. It’s beyond adorable to Ava.

“Why do you love me?” 

“Have you seen you?” Ava rolls her eyes at her endearing, but frustrating answer, not able to help the slight blush that colors her cheeks.

“Really?” 

“Yes, _really_.” Sara waves her free hand in Ava’s general direction and silently mouths, ‘Wow!’. Ava’s content to ignore her and grudgingly shift her eyes to the fabricator, deliberating if she wants a cup of chamomile tea.

“Oh, come on!” Sara half-laughs, half-pleads tugging on Ava’s shoulder to get her to get her to look back even though she’s risen to her feet after finally committing to a cup of tea. “I’m sorry, I’ll be good!”

“No, you won’t.” There’s no bite to Ava’s words, she’s long since made peace with Sara’s occasional juvenile antics. She also knows there’s no better time to start preparing tea as she can already see the gears turning behind Sara’s eyes.

“That’s true...” Sara observes, and Ava ruefully shakes her head as she reaches the fabricator. “But the question is, do you really want me to stop?” After the machine starts to whir with activity above her mug, she glances back at Sara with an overdramatic sigh and playful roll of her eyes.

“Sometimes you’re the ‘follow the rules, no room for mistakes’, poised and professional badass agent who could probably kick the ass of everyone on this ship,” Sara’s eyes are alight with an intense look of conviction when she looks up. “And sometimes you’re this amazingly supportive and warm mushball, who tears up during sappy tv shows and hides cutesy notes around my room.” 

Her words sink in slowly causing a smile to edge across Ava’s lips, and she crosses the room with her finished mug. Her smile seems to be contagious because as soon as she’s seated, the corners of Sara’s mouth pull upward. Ava leans forward to press a quick kiss in response before she starts blowing on her tea to cool it down. One of Sara’s hands drifts down to softly grip around Ava’s knee, drawing her attention back over the brim of her cup.

“And your butt.” She teases quickly, her smile spreading to a shit-eating grin a second before her mischievous eyebrow returns because she knows full well Ava will recognize the source of her words. “I love your butt.”

“Gross.” She places the cup back down on the table and picks her muffin back up.

“Hey, you asked.” There’s an easy silence that follows where Sara returns back to her oatmeal and Ava picks absently at the muffin wrapper while her tea cools.

“When did you know you loved me?” Even though it’s been established that Ava loves Sara too, it’s harder for her to be as openly articulate with her feelings. While she excels at grand gestures, Sara is not great at admitting what she needs from Ava, opting instead to tough it out. All of this combined ends up making it the blind leading the blind, but they’ve each been working on their destructive baggage.

“I don’t know if there was one definitive ‘a-ha moment’,” Ava can’t help the eyebrow that raises at that most likely trademarked phrase. “When I started flirting with you, it was pure revenge. You know, see if I could get under your skin? Especially after you held me at gunpoint at the Bureau.“ 

“But after awhile, I wanted to see what you’d do if I _actually_ flirted with you. How far I could push you? I told myself it was just for fun, something to pass the time.” The shit-eating grin returns and dances across Sara’s face at this admission. If she wasn’t so taken with her, Ava’s eyes most likely would’ve fallen out of her head with how hard she rolls them. “What? You’re hott as hell and I was bored. What can I say?” 

Her cheeks redden and she looks to the galley door, as though someone was going to walk in on this late night feelings fest. “It was a way to amuse myself when you kept showing up to rain on our parade. I figured _maybe_ I could get you in bed, or at least somewhere near it.” She winks shamelessly and despite herself, Ava is still charmed. She is also reassured the whole time she thought Sara was flirting, her suspicions had been correct.

“At first _if_ you responded, it was bitchy versions of protocol and bureaucratic bottom lines. After _awhile_ , when you got over yourself and the threats and quoting the almighty gospel of Time Agent Standards and Practices, usually you’d blush a lot and stammer in this very cute way.” Sara’s laugh is light as she recalls. “When you actually started to talk to me, I was more surprised than anything. Everything you shared peeled back another layer when I didn’t actually think I’d _ever_ get past that crusty exterior.” 

“You’re smart and passionate, your dedication to what you believe in amazed me, still amazes me. You have this very dry, sometimes bizarre, sense of humor that never fails to make me laugh, and I kept finding myself smiling at the small, inconsequential things you said.” 

“The more time I spent with you, the more time I wanted to spend with you. I started seeking out ways for our paths to cross because I genuinely wanted to see you.” Even though the words are ridiculously endearing, she struggles to reconcile the image of this world class former assassin making up excuses to be near her. 

“Eventually I had to admit to myself it was starting to mean _something_ to me, _you_ meant something to me. And after that? Well, it was all downhill from there.” Ava lets that soak in for a moment, wants to savor Sara’s words as long as possible and her openness to share them. Having only experienced her side of the bumpy road they had to travel to get to where they currently are, hearing Sara’s side of things only makes Ava fall more in love. She leans forward to draw their lips together in a much more deliberate kiss this time. 

Sara seems to rightly sense Ava needs this connection right now, and that it isn’t about their passion leading to something else, but about grounding herself in the comfort Sara offers up. She understands the need well enough to deepen the kiss as though she can transfer her strength, and it leads Ava to deepen the kiss. After awhile, in spite of the hour, Ava feels like she can breath again. 

“I thought I knew how my life was going to turn out.” Ava says after a pregnant pause when she pulls back at last. “I mean,” She looks down at the table and starts again. “At so many points in my life, I’d look around and say, ‘Yeah, this is how it’s supposed to go.’ And when everything inevitably went to hell again and again, I gave up thinking it’d go right again.” She chances a glance up at Sara, she sees a guarded smile and eyes watching intently and knows she has to find her point quicker. 

“I figured maybe I wasn’t meant for a ‘picture perfect’ life.” She reaches out to take Sara’s hand if for no other reason then to keep the smile on her face and hope in her eyes. “And it’s only when I gave up chasing what I thought I needed that I found you.” 

There’s a drawn out pause before Sara puts the back of one hand to her forehead while the other falls loosely across the top of her chest in an overly dramatic gesture, as though she’s about to faint, or swoon. “Oh, my oh my. Well, I do declare, Ms. Sharpe. You know just what to say to win a gal’s heart.” Her attempt at some sort of cliché 20s ingénue accent is atrocious, but it breaks the tension, and Ava is grateful for it. It’s always hard to stay on point around Sara, so she tugs her towards her to press her lips to Sara’s cheesy grin in another soft, yet perfect kiss. It doesn’t take Sara long to return the kiss, and the smile Sara wears when Ava pulls back is one of the realest smiles Ava has ever seen.

“Jerk.” She shakes ruefully, sobering after a moment. Just as quickly as the fleeting peace within her comes, it’s washed away as they part. “I have to tell you something.” She blurts out before she can think too much of it, surprising even herself. Ava sees something in Sara’s eyes, quick like a flash of lightning, and gone just as quickly, too quickly for Ava to think too long on what it could mean. She watches Sara’s hand slowly fall from her forehead and it makes Ava’s gut sink.

“Oh, boy. I definitely don’t like the sound of that.” Sara searches her eyes, most likely trying to figure out if the other shoe is about to drop.

“No, no. It’s nothing bad, I mean at least I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“Ava,”

“I talked about you. To my friend. Well, he’s more than a friend.” She can see the confusion flare in Sara’s eyes at that classification. “I mean, he’s more like family to me. Actually, he’s probably the only family I have left at this point. He’s been there for me most of my life, and even though lately we don’t get to see each other much, sometimes you just need someone you can be yourself around, y’know?” She watches Sara’s head bob cautiously in agreement. 

“Most times we just talk about work stuff, you know how much I wanna strangle Gary when he messes up, and the deaths of agents and dealing with Director Bennett. But after awhile it was more about you and me, or more like me trying to figure out how I felt about you. I wanted you to know that I’ve talked about you. To him. Basically ever since you and I met,” The utterly perplexed look on Sara’s face makes her pause her explanation.

“I’m confused.” Sara props her head up in her hand and lets her elbow drop down to the tabletop. 

“I needed someone to...I don’t know, help me figure things out? I am not what you would call good at dating and feelings and all that stuff, as you know. I used to have my brother, and before I started with the Bureau I had a few friends. But now, well.. the nature of what we do makes that kind of hard.”

“Alright,” She draws out the syllables and Ava can tell she is still confused. “Is this when people have a problem with their significant other sharing details of their relationship kind of thing? ‘Cause that’s really not me. Unless you choose to layout all the details of our sex life, and even then I don’t really care.”

“No, nothing like that.” She can feel her cheeks redden as she imagines trying to have that conversation. “I don’t think I could ever tell him about that, he’s..I’ve known him since I was a kid, I could never-” She holds up a hand to stop that particular thought spiral. “We just talk. Through email sometimes, mostly we video chat. He’s the only one I’ve told about you. And us. And this.” She reaches out to take the hand that’s not propping up Sara’s head.

“Yeah, I suppose using Gary would be out. And any of your other minions.” Ava rolls her eyes in fond exasperation, but doesn’t take the bait.

“At first I would leave out most of the what, and more importantly when, but I couldn’t keep lying about my job. Or about you.”

“I’m guessing the Time Bureau has many, _many_ rules about secrecy. Can’t have a clandestine government agency tasked with keeping the timeline in tact and broadcast your business from the rooftops.” Her grip on Ava’s hand solidifies. “I get it, you’re saying you broke a rule. From what I know of the poly-blend pantsuit brigade, that’s probably like breaking prime directive number one - ‘We do not exist.’ Like ‘Fight Club’.” 

“But who cares, you’re the director now. All those nerds have to listen to you.” She watches Sara shift her gaze down to their joined hands and when Sara doesn’t continue, she can’t help but roll into another unasked for explanation.

“It’s not about them, but you are right; I’ve probably violated at least a half dozen NDA’s telling him my secrets. I don’t care about what the Bureau knows, but I wanted you to know.” Ava runs a hand through her hair, brushing it to one side and purses her lips absentmindedly while she considers her options. 

“I wanted what little family I have left to know that I found someone that means a lot to me. I wanted him to know you, like I know you.” She doesn’t mean to keep getting overly sentimental, but it keeps happening regardless. “And since I’ve known Peggy almost twenty years now, it-” 

“Peggy?” Sara’s right brow raises ever so slightly, widening her grin with it.

“Oh, I mean. His name is Christopher McNamara, but that’s a mouthful.” She runs her free hand back through her hair in an effort to resist the urge to return to fiddling with her muffin wrapper. “They started calling him Peggy because he lost a leg, y’know like ‘peg leg’? And rather than letting it be used against him, he just embraced it. Now he insists that anyone he considers a friend to refer to him as Peggy.” She knows the overwhelming affection she has for the man she considers a major influential figure in her life shines through her voice and she wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“It’s kinda twisted, but I think it’s how he made his peace, accepted it, and kept moving.” She remembers of Peggy showing up for key moments in her life, unabashedly flashing his prosthetic leg for all the gawkers in their vicinity.

“I met him after we buried my dad; they were in the same squad, and he was with him when he died. He’s been with me for every big event in my life. I can’t imagine where I’d be it wasn’t for him.” A quick squeeze of her hand brings her gaze back up to blue eyes and she sees sympathy, but not pity. If there’s anyone who could understand the complications of lost family, Sara is that person. There’s a long moment where Ava relishes the warm smile and firm grip of the woman who loves her, lets it wash over her and cleanse a few more of the lasting effects of her losses. It’s enough to make her wonder about how different her life might look if her family hadn’t died.

“He sounds like a great man.” Sara’s words sweep away her momentary reverie, and Ava is instantly brought back to the present.

“He really is. He was my rock throughout losing my family. I honestly don’t know if I would’ve survived if I didn’t have him looking out for me all these years.” She says, feeling the truth of that statement down to her bones. “He reminds me its normal to make mistakes, he reminds its alright to have any sort of feelings, he reminds me what it’s like not to be alone. For the last six years, it was just me and him.” She comments, distractedly letting her eyes wander to the far side of the galley as she wonders what he’s doing today.

"He must love you a lot," Sara remarks warmly, but it’s enough to cause a cascade of funeral memories, and Ava’s jaw clenches reflexively.

"Everyone who loves me dies." The statement hangs in the air between them, like a truth coming out at last. Despite everything they’ve been through, all their confessed feelings and promises not let fear tear them apart again, this specter still remains. Ava’s eyes lock onto an indiscriminate section of the wall over Sara’s right shoulder, at a loss to justify such an autonomic response when Sara beats her to the punch.

"I have no intentions of dying. Again. Well, at least not any time soon." Sara reaches up with both hands to reassure her, a hand on either side of her face to refocus Ava’s eyes on her. Ava wants to shake free from her grasp, demand Sara take it back if she can’t guarantee it. While she realizes it’s her fear that’s struggling to take advantage of the situation, it’s roots were cemented decades ago. She leans in to Sara’s right hand, reaching her palm up to cover her left hand, and instead lets herself warm in the strength of Sara’s conviction.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.” She says ruefully, but hopes it’s with enough of a smile that Sara realizes there’s no bite to her words, just an acceptance that she’ll make do with whatever time they can manage.

“What’s he like?”

“Who? Peggy?” Sara nods. “He’s…” Ava pauses. “He’s a giant teddy bear, if the teddy bear cursed like a sailor and took a weird sense of pride in being a pain in my ass.”

“Oh, so like Mick.” The comparison makes her pause and think about what would happen if Mick Rory met Christopher McNamara, and she laughs. 

“Yeah, I suppose so.” She finishes her tea and pushes the cup aside. “They’d probably be best friends.” Ava can’t tell if that’s the worst idea or the best. “It’s hard to accurately describe him; he loves cheesy puns, reality shows, and dogs. He taught me nearly everything I know about firearms. He likes lecturing me about my choices, eating enough vegetables, and reminding me he still knows all the embarrassing stories from my childhood.”

“Oh, now I _must_ meet him.” Ava would be lying if she said a part of her didn’t know this was coming. The truth is she wasn't blind to the significance wanting Sara to meet the man that had taken up the heavy mantle of father-figure after hers was robbed from her.

“You..?” It wasn’t as though she was afraid of what they would think of one another, in many ways they were cut from the same cloth. It was the gravity of what this would mean that somehow felt heavier than anything she’d done in any other relationship.

“Want to meet him, yes.”

“Do you,” Her voice cracks, and she doesn’t quite know why but she clears her throat before trying again. “Do you want to go today? I know you had plans for us, staying in bed and relaxing. But maybe we could see if he’s free today?” Ava can only imagine what her face looks like at the prospect of her favorite two people meeting, but when she looks over at her, Sara’s warm smile tells her exactly what she wants to hear.

“I’d love to go today.”

 

{to be continued…}


	2. One Year Ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ava Sharpe sits in her office in the wee hours of the morning and tries to come up with the words to explain why Sara Lance and the Legends seem to annoy her so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In 4x01, Sara repeatedly mentions that they've been searching for five months for evidence of magical creatures like the dragon's head that Gary and Constantine dumped at their feet when the Legends were on their Post-Mallus holiday. For my purposes, this means Chapter 1 of this story takes place _right_ before the Season 4 premiere, and following that logic, Chapter Two is titled "One Year Ago". I'm hoping you all will give me a little latitude with artistic license since the end of this chapter lines up with the end of 3x05, "Return of the Mack", which aired 07 November 2017. I'm a few days off, but I didn't want to wait longer to update just so it would line up perfectly - I'm a little OCD, not sadistic.

It’s around the eighth time she has to go back and re-read Gary’s mission notes that Ava gives up any attempt to concentrate on the report. The words are starting to blur together on the page, and when that happens, her concentration on simple tasks cannot be salvaged. She briefly contemplates going down to the indoor track on the Bureau’s second floor and putting in a couple miles to clear her head, but she figures it’d be no use. If she doesn’t have the patience to parse out the pertinent details in Gary’s glowing narrative of Bravo team’s response to the Globe Theater in 1609 to eject a time-displaced Tom Cruise, then her work truly needs to be set aside for awhile. She decides instead to take a quick shower, rinse the sweat and grime of the previous day away, and grab breakfast before trying again. 

The hot water works its way through her hair, running over the fatigued muscles in her shoulders where she carries all her tension, and she knows it’s only a temporary reprieve. The spray feels fantastic but does little to erase the feelings of frustration and futility that have plaguing her the last couple of weeks. She’s been distracted, and typically it results in her putting in more hours at the office, staying just shy of physically exhausting herself because burying her head in her work is the type of penance Ava can justify. It’s not all bad, though, Ava likes her work. It allows her to forget about her ghosts, at least temporarily, and she can set aside the faces that continue to weigh heavily on her conscience. It’s the place that actively encourages her to make sense of chaos, the place where everything else fades away because there’s nothing she can’t control when she’s here. Something about the routine and organization calms her, but she’s sure even a half-decent shrink could trace it to relishing a sense of control when aspects of her life feel uncontrollable. A lot of things were easier if she didn’t think about them, and not thinking came easiest when she was working, which is exactly why she had been putting in such long hours at the Bureau lately.

And then the Legends happened, leaving confusion and anarchy in their wake. Their approach to dealing with anachronisms made her work life...complicated, to say the least. Any headway she had managed organizing the complicated parts of her life was instantly erased when they arrived, and she knew she wasn’t going to be able to be deal with their ensuing boatload of stress employing her usual tactics.

There was actually an entire block of instruction in the Time Bureau’s academy training which educated future agents on not relying on the types of choices and battle strategies that Legends would select. Although to their credit, the Legends’ blundering and unhinged plans to repeatedly ‘save the timeline’ more or less accomplished just that, but it seemed trivial things such as accounting for discrepancies and the repercussions of their actions continued to elude them. In fact everything about the Legends inevitably resulted in more work for the Bureau, and despite being someone who thrived at work, this annoyed Ava. From the moment they snuck into the Bureau’s Star City field office, by-passing the lobby security, and making it up to the heart of the building and continuing all the way to having the audacity to request strike team authorization respond to a low-level anachronism blip in 1897, everything related to the Legends screamed unprofessional, including Director Hunter himself. He may have sent out last night’s request, but she could read between the lines, she knew the crew of the Waverider had showed up to the same anachronism. Again. Unfortunately, she wasn’t the only one who was noticing Rip’s enormous blind spot for his old team where the Legends were concerned, and if the whispers she continued to overhear were to be believed, Director Hunter was on a collision course with a Time Bureau tribunal if he didn’t get a grip soon. 

That particular thought is enough to shake her as she sits back down at her desk. She could not afford to lose Rip Hunter, or the Time Bureau, from her life. Five years ago when Rip had recruited her, it felt like a sign, someone offering a way out just when she found the end of her rope. In the Bureau’s rigorous instructional program, she had found the type of fulfillment and purpose, the likes of which she hadn’t known since the military. The process itself felt as though it led her step by step back towards the kind of future she had come very close to blowing when everything in her life had seemed bleak. Her life leading up to becoming an agent was such a mess that she thrived in the rigid structure of policies and procedures, seemingly build for this kind of work. She had found solid ground in the Time Bureau, it had allowed her to claw her way back from the brink of very dark period in her life, and she’d be damned if Sara Lance and her merry band of blundering idiots stole it from her. The Time Bureau was order, it was routine, it was a clearly laid out path, and there was no room or need for improvisation. She had her share of ups and more than enough downs, and now she was being groomed, on track to becoming the youngest director in Bureau history in a couple years. The last thing she wanted was to get sidetracked chasing idiots through time because they had more heart than sense.

Maybe that’s what was causing this uncertainty in her, their heart. The Legends’ blind uncoordinated attempts at do-goodery, shooting targets first and asking if they needed to later. They were all about the kind of thoughtless ‘damn the consequences’ modus operandi that wound up doing more harm than good, at least in her experience. Ava had seen enough of that growing up, she knew exactly what right versus wrong looked like, and how far it got you. Old memories suddenly surface making her heart heavy as she thinks about her family, daydreaming about what she’d want if she saw again. She wants to go back and get one last piggyback ride from her dad, wants to listen to her mom to read her one more story before bed, wants one more secret notTwin handshake with Patrick before they loaded up the vehicles that afternoon. She wants to use her time courier to go back and see them all one more time, as if that will be enough to stitch together the hole in her heart. 

This is when the guilt resurfaces, twisting her stomach into the same familiar knots. The spiral is familiar, ‘survivor’s guilt’ one therapist called it. Perfectly ‘natural and understandable, given the circumstances’. She normally tries to prevent the memories from tailspinning her into pessimism; pessimism that says there’s no grand plan for how things happen and good people die every day for no reason while bad people are free to do whatever they want. She’d used the crutch of being an agent for years, preventing her from giving too much power to these thoughts, and anything interfered with this was unacceptable. She refused to be a slave to emotions because emotions meant feeling and feeling meant being vulnerable and being vulnerable meant leaving herself open to possibly losing even more. She had worked hard to set aside all these feelings of helplessness and was perfectly happy to let her head’s practicality take the lead for awhile. 

Maybe that’s why everything about the Legends ends up irritating her. All they are is gut instinct and messy feelings, all they operate on are lofty ideas of purpose and destiny. She hates to admit it but seeing them in action with her own eyes does rekindle a long dormant desire for a worthy fight, and her desire for a change of pace has been fanning the flames and making her forget her better judgement. It’s the same juvenile impulse that dictates skipping steps and charging headlong into battle, consequences be damned. On paper it shouldn’t work, but somehow they do, as though the universe itself recognizes their efforts. 

Some hidden part of her brain whispers that there might be an advantage to their blundering in to situations, merely hoping for the best, as it seems to work for them. She is certainly never going to acknowledge it as a sound strategy out loud, but it’s making her reconsider the rest of their questionable choices. The only thing she will admit to noticing is the certain kind’ve energy that radiates from everything the Legends do, a sort of ‘beauty in the chaos’ aspect to their actions, especially from Sara Lance. She recognized it first when she came to ‘save’ Ava from being kidnapped by Julius Caesar, and saw it again when they fought on the Waverider before the saber-toothed tiger showed up, and it’s that same glint in her eye Ava noticed right as Sara brought the Waverider around to a collision course with the Bureau’s mothership, and dared her to jump away from the face off. She can feel something building from all of this, something that goes hand in hand with why Captain Lance and her team are becoming increasingly distracting for Ava, but she doesn’t have the time or the patience to figure why so she sets all of it aside for now.

It’s still too early in the morning for even the brown-nosing early birds to start arriving, so this floor of agent offices feels almost serenely peaceful. The maintenance crew barely spared Ava a glance since this wasn’t the first time she’d surprised them by spending the night on her office couch, as she often did when the prospect of going home seemed unreasonable. She finishes combing through her hair and gathering it back into an acceptable state when an idea occurs to her, a more productive way to spend a couple hours before work, certainly more productive than wallowing in her Legends-shaped frustrations. It’s been awhile since she last wrote and while she knows she should make a more consistent effort to keep the lines of communication open, sometimes writing feels like it’ll make it worse. She boots up her desktop and sets about finding the dress flats she keeps in her bottom drawer for when her feet are tired of the low heels she usually wears to the office.

 The emails to Peggy started out as a way to keep herself sane; just like she needed to take off her blazer at the end of the day, she requires an outlet to remind her of who she really was underneath it all. She needed someone to help her decompress, and it wasn’t as though the Bureau had an in-house therapist, and the man who helped keep her (somewhat) sane all these years was the obvious choice. Ava knew this communication breached several protocols, not to mention violated many addendums to the handbook, but she had only signed non-disclosure agreements specific to not revealing the nature of time travel, not the general details that went along with anachronisms. That was a failure on Rip’s part, in her opinion, and whomever helped him set up the initial charters. As far as she was concerned, she was in the clear as long as she stayed vague about of the whens, a few of the whos, and just outright not talk about the implications if one of the agency’s missions failed.

 Over the years, the emails would be just be highlights since the last time she wrote, all specific details obscured of course. Her work at the Time Bureau had brought her dozens of unexpected interactions with historical figures and visiting so many significant time periods that she knew if she tried to bottle it all up within her like the agency’s policies and non-disclosure agreements stipulated, she’d develop an ulcer and flame out like she’d seen so many mediocre agents do. Ava understood the need for compartmentalization, for respecting the secrecy of a clandestine organization but she was also not naive enough to believe that she would be immune to the psychological side effects of this type of isolation. Sometimes the emails were opportunities to humble-brag about organizing her first operation, sometimes they would talk about the chance encounters with a ‘high-level dignitaries’, sometimes she would even throw in mundane details in like her building going co-op and how she was considering buying her condo and getting a dog. Anything she could think of to remind her of her normal, non-time jumping life, because while she might be Agent Sharpe, rising star of the Time Bureau and under the close mentorship of Director Bennett, hand-picked by Director Hunter but to Christopher McNamara, aka Peggy, she would always be ‘Nerd’ or ‘Pipsqueak’, or if he was feeling particularly charitable, ‘Princess’ or ‘Doodle’.

She didn’t have many (read: none) friends or work acquaintances that weren’t, on some level, looking to de-throne her position as likely successor to Directors Bennett and Hunter. And if they weren’t out for her job, they spent most of their time completely frightened by her. She might’ve lowered the bar to consider those that didn’t look as though they were about to wet themselves when she spoke to them as criteria, but those brave souls were in short supply as well. While she recognized a few of his redeeming traits, the idea of trying to forge a non-invasive friendship with Agent Gary Green felt more like she was signing up to be the reluctant owner of a rambunxious chihuahua. She was still only mulling over the thought of sharing personal details with him, and upgrading him to something nearing ‘confidant’ chafed something fierce. Maybe it was the fact a year after she graduated, she was invited to shadow Rip himself on the scouting trip to recruit Gary and had seen who he was before the Bureau. Maybe it was because she could already imagine him figuratively wiggling his tail end until he fell over if she were to wave a ‘snausage’ in front of his face. The truth was she had trouble taking him seriously ever since he graduated the Time Agent course and Rip had convinced her to take him under her wing. She already had to wade through his increasingly exhausting personality quirks in the name of work productivity and that took near-Buddhist level patience, she couldn’t imagine inviting him to comment on her growing anxiety. She certainly couldn’t see not being utterly distracted by his puppy-dog eyes if she were to share something as deeply personal like this continuing crisis of conscience. No, Gary simply would not do.

As she positions her fingers above the keys she considers what telling Rip would look like, potentially risking disappointing the man who had taken a fairly big chance on her, and realizes it is completely out of the question. 

________________________________________________ 

Dear Pegalicious,

 

[Before you start, I know it’s been too long since I last wrote but I swear I’m trying to be better.]

It’s bright and early, and I’m here in my office since I remember how much you love it when write from work. It’s early, so early in fact this year’s crop of cadets haven’t even begun to show up for their first day of in-processing. This will actually be the first year I have nothing to do with them or the training program, which is a weird thought. I will miss it in some ways, scaring the ever-loving shit out of them was always enjoyable, first as class leader then later as a topic instructor and last year when I took over as the academy’s senior agent. The change will be different, but I’m more than ready to start something new. 

I have told you about Director Hunter before, so you know how much it pains me to say this but I’m worried about him. When I met him, he was driven and articulate. He had this way with words that made you want to believe in him, and when he told people what to do, they listened. He was just that inspiring.

But now I think he’s slowly losing his focus. There’s a look in his eye, like he knows his time is running out and all his thoughts are scattered. In some ways, it feels like he knew it was coming to this when he set up the agency because who would create something and then invite two other people to assume the same position? He would probably say it was the only way to keep the checks and balances equal, but I think even then he knew he’d have to be overruled one day. 

Unfortunately, his increasingly erratic behavior is only being exacerbated by his original team showing up to ‘help’. Where do I even begin to start with them? They operate on instinct and good intentions, like that’s the only thing that matters. Actually, if anything, their presence is making the whole building assume Rip is days away from throwing the towel in and re-joining them. And I don’t know what that that could mean for the future of the Bureau. Just between you and I, my stance on these idiots most likely has less to do with them and more to do with the thought I might lose the Bureau and Director Hunter just because they showed up one day.

I’d never say it to their faces, but sometimes I can see the advantages to their heavy-handed approach.There’s always been a reactionary basis for my job; a problem presents itself, agents are dispatched to deal with the problem, and then a report is generated in order to reflect on effective implementation of procedures, actions deemed effective and need to be sustained in the future, suggestions of possible improvements, as well as any potential repercussions the executed plan might reap. That’s it, rinse and repeat. 

And for awhile I was fine thinking that was the only way to do this job. But having spent some time around this ‘original team’, hearing from other agents how this group go about things? It’s starting to make me question why the Bureau adopted some of the SOPs they have in place. If you have all this relevant data easily accessible, why not take the opportunity to get out in front _before_ something happens? Why would you simply wait for something to happen? I’m not saying their methods are foolproof, far from it. They have an almost perverse sense of entitlement, like no plan will work as well as just having the best of intentions, like that’s all you need. There’s a fine line between luck and skill and they seem perfectly happy to walk the razor’s edge every single time. Director Hunter tries to remind me that we must be the scalpel after this merry band of misfits chainsawed through their problems, but…

________________________________________________

She pauses momentarily to think of how she wants to word the rest of her sentence when window pops up on her screen with the words “INCOMING VIDEO CALL” across a frozen image of Christopher McNamara with his eyes rolled back into his head and his index fingers pulling the sides of his mouth in opposite directions while his tongue is stuck straight out at the camera. Ava can’t help but laugh because no image has ever encapsulated his personality so perfectly. She nudges her keyboard to the side and hovers her mouse over the accept button before clicking.

“Hey, big guy,” She says, making no effort to ratchet down her smile at seeing his familiar face. “Long time no see, I was just replying to your email.” 

“Two weeks later,” He coughs as he says the words, deliberately half-hearted in his attempt to obscure them. “Ahem, yes. I felt a disturbance in the force, and I knew my wisdom was needed.” Even after many years away, Peggy’s slight southern drawl still colors his words. Possibly more so with this attempt at Sir Alec Guinness’ Ben Kenobi inflection, but it makes her smile widen nonetheless.

“Where’s Chewie? She still destroying everything in the house?” She ignores his atrocious accent and asinine ribbing, choosing to look down to the white and grey ball of fluff trotting towards the camera like she heard her name called and plants her butt to the left of his knee.

“Yeah,” Peggy says, thankfully ditching the half-British accent. He reaches out to run his hand through the young husky pup’s fur, and Ava registers a brief flash of discomfort on his face as the motion stretches a dormant muscle in his back, triggering a lingering pain response. “She’s a canine-sized tornado.”

“An _adorable_ canine tornado, yes she is.” Her eyes flick down to the panting dog who seems acutely aware she is being talked about, and looks up as though she can see Ava in the monitor.

“Are you already at work?” His eyes scan her surroundings, though her pressed white dress shirt is easily the biggest tip-off. “It’s what? Just after five there?” He brings up a wrist that has no watch as if that’ll illustrate the validity of his point. “Do I need to be worried you’re overworking yourself again?”

“No, no. Just finishing up some paperwork. You know me, I like to be in the office before anyone else. It's nice to have some quiet when I work, takes my mind off of things.” His gaze shifts again and she can tell he’s resisting the urge to comment further on that, but they both know it’d be pointless to belabor the subject. His methods are no better than hers, and neither of them appreciate a hypocrite. 

“What’s up? You usually don’t remember to write unless you want to vent about idiots at work again.” There must be something on her face that reflects he’s on the right track with his guess. “They didn’t break something again, did they? Y’all are gonna have to step up your hiring standards if your newbies break at least one thing every month.” Ava rolls her eyes as she remembers recounting the construction efforts after the Legends absconded with the Bureau’s former flight simulator.

“No, nothing like that. Just some,” She hesitates momentarily, considering the best way to succinctly summarize all of the drama surrounding current events lately. “Office politics nonsense. And you know there’s nothing I hate more than getting caught in the middle of some testosterone-fueled posturing.”

“Worse than the time the Justice Department thought it was appropriate to set up a softball tournament so agencies could compete for the Senate appropriations Committee money?”

“Worse.” She lays it all out then, summarizes the last month since the Legends showed up and finally relates it back to the other things about them she’s mentioned to him in the past. Previously, it was mostly passing comments when she had to do a deep-dive into the crew members’ files in order to generate curriculum in order to learn from their _many_ mistakes. Back then it seemed unfathomable that she’d ever meet them, and even less plausible that her new position would end up revolving around them.

“I can’t believe that Director Bennett even indulged this request for a strike team to respond to...Director Hunter’s location. It was unsanctioned mission to begin with, and now asking to combine Bureau resources with all the off the book hours he’s worked on something this risky? It’s not like dragging in the L-” She stops short of giving the fanciful name of the Waverider crew because even if the chances of Peggy keeping up with the many faces and names of all the superheroes and vigilantes running around these days is slim to none, she’s not willing to risk it. “Losers from his original team into this windmill hunt is going to be any help. I mean, not unless they account for everything going wrong and stumbling over Mal-” She closes both her eyes and her lips as she forces herself to take a breath. Her frustration is loosening her tongue with the details she’s typically better at keeping a lid on. “Malcolm Reynolds, the target of this ridiculous investigation.”

Before he can open his mouth to call her out on her horribly executed lie, she registers a presence at her door. Gary is outside her frosted glass door, and when he sees that her outline has noticed him, he waves animatedly and holds up the large paper travel cup like peace offering. She really ought to cut him a break for the daily coffee runs alone, but something about having him constantly underfoot constantly reminds her of the relationship she can no longer have with Patrick that's what causes her to be so short with him. She curls her fist and softly knocks twice on her desk, and when Peggy bobs his head in acknowledgement to wait to share whatever he’s about to say, she beckons Gary to step inside. 

To anyone else, the knock might look like an idle gesture but it serves as a useful two-fold signal. Peggy knows not to comment further on whatever they were discussing, especially anything pertaining to her work, but also as a suggestion to say at least something else so it’s not quite as noticeable that they’ve stopped talking. Gary wordlessly steps into her office and sets down her carmel apple latte and holds up a post-it informing her Director Bennett wants her to review the activity logs before the 9am rundown meeting and there’s an 11am conference call with DC. She nods to him, picking up the paper coffee cup and mouths thank you before she can think better of it. The eager, open-mouthed grin she receives in return makes her roll her eyes, but she shakes it off. 

“That looks delicious, what is it?” Peggy says as Gary steps out. He’s not smiling when she looks back at him, but Ava can see the pride in his expression anyway. He’s told her numerous times how happy to see her in professional mode, how it makes him think of her dad. She looks down at the two-handed grip she has around the cup, hovering right in front of her face as she soaks in the aroma while she waits for it to cool.

“A carmel apple latte from the coffee cart on the other side of the block. One of the only things I enjoy about this time of year.” She inhales deeply letting the swirl of cinnamon and apple takeover her her senses. She purposely lets her moan in response be a little more exaggerated, smirking when the tips of his ears flush pink.

“Would you like a moment alone with your latte?” Peggy clears his throat unsuccessfully, and Ava smirks into her sip but shakes her head in response.

“Let’s get back to the point, shall we?”

“What point is that? Rip Hunter? Malcolm Reynolds? The lust I hold in my heart for this latte?”

“No, smart ass. The point is I know you _really_ want to talk about is this captain lady.”

“No, that’s actually the _last_ thing I want to talk about.” 

“I don’t believe you.” He stretches all the syllables out, making the sentence sound more like a mocking song.

“Frankly, I don’t care what you believe.”

“In that case, I believe the lady doth protest too much cause she’s is full of shit.”

“Uhhh, not full of shit. And even if your argument had a leg to stand on…” It’s an intentional swipe, a turn of phrase she’s used many times before and knows he takes no actual offense in. “Oh, wait. My bad.”

“Ooooh, that’s just cold.” His hand goes to his upper chest, and his fingers curl around the thick silver chain that hangs from his neck as though he’s clutching pearls. “Picking on someone’s disability? That’s low, Sharpe. Even for you.”

“You forget that I’ve sat right next to you when you’ve detached that ‘disability’ and hit someone over the head with it.”

“Oh, yeah.” His hand drops back down as mouth curls into a wide smile at the memory. “That was fun. Like, easily top five bar fights I’ve ever been in.” Eventually his gaze falls back down to her, refocused and ready to cut to the heart of the matter.

“But, seriously though…”

“Seriously,” She sighs. “She’s just…” Ava trails off, shaking tense hands at the screen. “Reckless? Not just a matter of overconfident, she’s downright arrogant how little she thinks about the consequences of her actions. Like she knows she can’t lose. 

“So, what you’re saying is ‘birds of a feather’,”

“I don’t even think she sees how much Rip is risking by protecting them.” She ignores his non-sequitur in favor of her own train of thought. “I just want to do my job, you know? I want nothing to do with playing games or chasing them around so I can scold them. My duty is to protect and serve, and her team acts as though what we do within regs can’t hold a candle to the results they get by throwing out the rulebook.”

“Have you tried, oh I don’t know, talking to her?”

“Of course! We’ve spoken _many_ times, but-“

“No, I don’t mean you hitting them over the head with the rulebook when they broke into your building. Or when your guy Gary kept running into them when he was out scouting leads. Somehow I am confident all you two did was bicker and posture.” He pauses, letting his volume drop back down. “I’m talking about actually approaching her like an adult,” He seems adamant in expressing how unreasonably stubborn he thinks she’s being right now. “Speak to her and see if you can find some sort of happy, or workable medium. You said her and her team are working towards the same goal, regardless of their ‘messy’ methods. Sounds like she might be receptive to possibly figuring out how each of you can get her job done. You’re probably the only one who can start bridging that gap since it sounds like your guy Hunter is allowing his sentimentality let them run wild mostly because he knows Bennett wants nothing to do with them.” He says, almost pleadingly. “Just try to be the bigger person, okay? Maybe she’ll be more receptive than you assume.”

“When did you get so sensible?”

There’s a long period of quiet and Ava’s nearly decided to repeat herself when he finally speaks. “I know you, kiddo. You’re worried about what all this drama will mean for you. And when you let yourself get stressed out, you lash out.” He replies sagely. “You need a purpose, just like me, just like your dad. And just like us, when you feel like someone’s trying to take that away from you, you’ll fight tooth and nail to protect what yours. I know what you look like when you’re so focused on getting the job done, and you start falling into all the dark places again. You’re all too willing to give up parts of yourself in order to complete the mission. I just don’t want to see you fall down that hole again.”

It’s a long few minutes before she feels like she’s not in danger of biting his head off. “I love you, old man. You saved my life more than that near-miss with the DWI, but you’re starting to color outside the lines. You’re right, I am stressed but I'm nowhere near where I was when Patrick died. And I resent the assumption that this anything like that, let alone that I would so easily let myself go there again.”

“Would you take a breath?” His exasperation is enough momentarily startle her out of her indignation. She can feel the blood rush to her cheeks and feels sheepish as she finally refocuses on his face.

“Sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry, just snap out of it.” He drags a hand back through his curly hair he’s let grown out, slicking it away from his eyes while he gathers his thoughts. “I’ve known you a kinda long time and I don’t often see you this overwhelmed.” He takes the opportunity to pause and let his point land, cocking his head to the side before continuing. “There’s something about this Lance girl, isn’t there?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re frustrated, and when you get frustrated you get this wrinkle right here,” He points to the space between his bushy eyebrows and she rolls her eyes. “And it tells me everything I need to know. Normally I’d keep this nugget in my pocket for the next time we play cards, but I’m feeling charitable.” He actually looks concerned, but it’s not straight up pity and Ava supposes that’s a hell of a lot better.

“I don’t get...” Her free hand immediately goes up like she’ll be able to retroactively cover the area from his scrutiny.

 

“I am a hundred percent certain you can’t convince me I didn’t see it.” Mirth replaces the scrutiny in his eyes, and she assumes he’s happier bantering. For now.

“That’s not how numbers work! You can’t have a hundred percent of nothing,” Ava argues. She takes a long swig of her latte to fortify herself, positive he won’t care about logic. 

“I say you can, and that’s all that matters. Don't sass your elders, little one.” His left eyebrow raises just barely before the smirk returns to his lips, and he pulls the sides of his beard like it’s going to make him look wise. “This is what I do, I drink and I know things.” She rolls her eyes, immediately placing the source of his words.

“Surprisingly I work with _a lot_ of nerds, so while I have never seen an episode of that damn show - I know what you’re quoting, asshole.” The corners of his eyes crinkle as he tries to stifle his surprisingly higher pitched, childish giggles.

He’s just about to open his mouth and continue when a small window appears in the corner of her with the words “INCOMING VIDEO CALL” across a still image of Sara Lance standing on the bridge of the Waverider. Her arms are crossed, and she's looking down at her feet as she leans back against the middle console on the bridge. Ava can practically read the tension rolling off her through the screen.

“Hey, Peg. I gotta go, there’s someone on the other line. We’ll finish this another time, okay?” She’s positive he’d jump at the chance to know the very woman he’s teasing her about is on the other line, but the last thing she wants is to add fuel to that particular fire.

“Okay. But think about what I said, Princess. Sometimes people will surprise you.” She nods, absently wondering if he can tell Sara is the person calling. “Love you,” He waves goodbye with a little two-finger salute.

“Love you too.” She ends the call and quickly clicks over to the window that’s still emitting a low ringing tone before the call can be transferred to an answering service.

When she maximizes the image in order to open the connection, she still expects to see the frustratingly lopsided grin Sara usually wears when they speak, the façade that projects she knows exactly what she’s doing. She expects it, but she doesn’t see it, instead replaced with focused eyes clouded with what Ava suspects is remorse, and a tense set to her jaw.

“Captain Lance, what are-“ There’s a small shake of Sara’s head, like she doesn’t want to be doing this, and regrets interrupting but she needs to speak her peace before she loses her nerve.

“We need to talk about Rip.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is entitled to picture whomever they want for original characters, but for me Peggy is David Denman.
> 
>  
> 
> Have thoughts? Opinions? Want to pester me about where the heck the next chapter is? Come bother me on tumblr @kennedyismyher or twitter @orehymsiydennek (aka, my screenname backwards).

**Author's Note:**

> The title is the first line of the poem, "A Prayer For The Wild At Heart Kept In Cages" by Tennessee Williams. I fully admit I stumbled onto it while idly googling Angelina Jolie's tattoos and fell in love with it. It seemed fated that it just happened to be penned by the same author that wrote the title to my first story, so I went with it. 
> 
> Read the whole poem here:  
> https://bit.ly/2Jf8i37


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